Vi Et Animo
by XEruwaedhielX
Summary: "I don't think any of you realise how special and fortunate your lives are. God, you're practically blessed!" The Winchesters and Bobby help a girl Castiel found, claiming she's a Prophet when, in fact, she's much more than that. After a while, they realise what they've gotten themselves into, but they're eventually willing to help because, well... that's what they do, isn't it?
1. Pretty hard hit

**Disclaimer: I don't own Supernatural, the cover image or its characters!**

**Okay, so I've no idea when I'll update since this was written a while ago and I thought _ah, what the hell? Why not post it?_ So, here it is and I hope you like XD **

**X~X~X**

It seemed calm, but of course this was entirely different: the birds were silent but could've been screaming; the trees were still and serene, although their leaves should be screeching; and the air was warm and cosy yet ought to be eerie and chilling. This was a place like no other and even though many dwelt here, no one was and despite it was almost early morning, this realm should've been brimming in life and integrity. . .

Until the girl who looked a mere twenty-three - maybe less – came stumbling around a tree, panting. Her dark eyes were a blood-shot red and her dirt-covered skin was as cold as ice. Her long, damaged and singed hair fell to the small of her back and was filthy and her body was sweaty and worn. She grasped what she could of a nearby tree to steady herself, the path spinning. She scanned around – and deciding no one was there – ran as best she could along the dry mud, trampling over bendy, prickling twigs and crouching under withering, low branches.

The white dress she had managed to scavenge was partially torn and her heart would've exploded in agony if it were not for the unexplainable drive pushing her onwards into darkest and deepest parts of the forest. It was every physical pain you could ever imagine drilling into her and wasn't leaving any time soon. Knives, burns, scratches, holes, aches, piercings and as remembering, a shrill escaped her discolored lips and she clasped at her temple in agony as her knees hit the hard, stone-like floor. She was trying to push herself forward mentally, but despite her efforts, she couldn't do it. It was so cold; everything was so cold and lifeless, like a broken arrow: unusable.

A herd of rough, sprinting footsteps echoed around the trees, rushing around the girl and surrounding her in fear and dread and despair. She forced herself up, and lent her back against a coarse tree trunk, before realizing that they were merely scouting the trees behind her, her breathing quickened and she realised she was going to have to run. It was the only option. It was not long before one of them saw her flashing through the greenery, her hair whipping behind and the floor crunching loudly like snow beneath her sore feet

She could feel the trembling of the ground beneath her; they were catching up. Fast.

Just as she was rushing through the twisting, entangling trees, she glanced behind her and saw that they were approaching merely fifty yards away, maybe more, maybe less – panic stricken – she locked eyes with one of them accidentally, his fierce eyes brutal and focused on nothing but her. The girl contained a scream as she searched for an escape, but she was surrounded.

They were closing in and she was helpless.

No. Not yet. She began climbing the nearest tree painfully, but swiftly, and as she descended higher and higher, she could hear the laughs battering her ears and feel the grins poking at her back. Finally resting on the thick branch, they seemed like pins since she was so high up. There was only one thing she was terrified of and it was not heights.

Glancing down and seeing that they were climbing up, almost growling like hounds at her vulnerability and dependence at that one thing she clings on to: the tree. It seemed so strong and powerful from a distance, and yet now, it was but a weed – feeble and pathetic.

Petrified, the girl climbed higher, not daring to glance down. Her hair stuck to her sweaty neck and face and her insides felt like wax. All she could think about was whether they were still going to follow or abandon their mission. She knew it was going to be the previous and not the latter, but something kept her moving, kept her drive, kept her energy.

She could feel the searing burns in her bones and the entanglement of limbs. She felt like a rag-doll, carved and bruised and beaten, like she was nothing to them. She wasn't though, was she? But a sudden rush of wind escaped the air and muffled the chants, cheers, growls of the ones below, who stopped climbing for a moment. They all looked at each other in confusion. Since when was there wind here?

With the opportunity, the girl climbed even higher, hoping that somehow she could lose them and leap to another tree close by. . .

The wind strengthened, although the girl kept climbing. This was an unusual place and all natural, normal occurrences and elements didn't apply, and so now she was over one hundred metres high up and another hundred were ahead.

Astonished, the girl could not reach the next branch because it was blocked, blocked by a familiar man in a trench coat. He held out his hand and she took it with her own discolored, bony one and climbed up next to him, leaning against the thick trunk, breathless and dizzy. They both looked down to see them . . . creatures still climbing, their faces growing agitated and concerned and frustrated. Before she knew what was going on, the man's hand was around her wrist and all the blood rushed to her head, making her heavy and she could feel herself falling and falling and falling, her eyes blacked out, she could hear a sort of high-pitched whizzing, then a colossal crash and all air was blown out of her.

"Oh my God! Are they OK?!"

"What _happened_?"

"They just . . . fell . . . from the sky. . ."

The cars had all stopped and there were about fifty or so people surrounding the one object everyone was looking at: a huge silver Range Rover in which the bonnet had been cracked completely in two and the windows had all smashed into pieces, scattering the floor with the blinding sun's rays reflected off them, causing shiny multicolored beams to glow over anything they could get to: the small little girl who's mouth was agape; or the mum who covered his son's big brown eyes with her hand; the clueless old woman who's walking stick was carved in the most finest of wood; or even more so, the spell bound woman who's green eyes were starting to water, whether it be because of shock, fear, or that she owned the wreckage of a car.

They were all staring, open-mouthed or quivering at the two laying atop the car, a man wearing a beige trench coat laying on his back, directly on the bonnet and the girl laying over him, her arm across his chest and her head on his own stretched out arm.

The people whispered and mumbled, the driver and her friend were talking in hushed voices, the words "already" and "phone" cropping up.

"How far do you think they fell?" muttered a young teen boy whose headphones had been ripped out long since.

"Dunno . . . I only saw them come down at the last moment. . . " replied a girl of the same age who had her cinnamon brown hair in a messy pony tail.

Gasps and screams and other emotions emerged throughout the horrified group; the girl's fingers twitched and her hand slid over the man's chest and she felt the cold of the bonnet beneath her palm. She tried to take a large breath, but it was too painful and so short ones had to suffice for the time being.

The first word to escape her lips, "Cas . . .?" but it was more like a squeak since her throat insisted on closing. She managed to move her legs over and try to kneel. She didn't bother looking around at her surroundings; hastily pulling her hair behind her ears, she shook the trench-coated man, Cas, briefly to no response before concluding to slapping him hard around the face. Startled, he sat bolt upright, grabbing what was left of her forearm.

"We need to leave," she choked as Cas looked around at the petrified, gob-smacked faces of the people who were talking in hushed whispers between them.

"Agreed," Cas replied as he climbed off the car with ease, helping the girl after, with the sound of glass crunching beneath their feet. "Keep close," he ordered quietly as he glanced back at the huge crack and dent in the bonnet of the car. The people, possibly out of fear or more so bewilderment, made a sort of path for them both. Cas passed between two stationary cars and the girl followed, vaguely hearing the voices of the people behind and she turned around to see uniformed and suited men being directed by a few of the crowd pointing and staring directly at them. A few of the witnesses were already being questioned.

Before either of them could say a word, the girl and Cas sped up along the paved walkway, dodging handheld couples and small children trying to be controlled by their mothers. Trying to forget the pain, ache and dizziness, it all seemed just like a blur, the whistling and whizzing and the sounds of cars beeping and people chatting and gossiping, and before they knew it, they were in the shadowed corner down a dark, damp alley in which litter scattered the floor and graffiti covered the dirty brick walls and bins.

**X~X~X**

**So, that's it, the first chapter! Please leave a review and tell me what you think. Thank you! :D  
**


	2. Out of Batteries

**_Thank God_, I've finally stopped faffing over this chapter! I want to make something a bit different, but of course with the usual Supernatural goodness! **

**I have so many great ideas. . . I think :/ . . . and most of this fic is literally planned out in my head, it's just the whole typing thing takes forever for me to do. :'( **

** This chapter's is kinda a bit more into what the condition is like, I guess. . . I don't know. It's sort of like a linking chapter in which Castiel and this girl finally sort of chill and try to regain their strength and such, but, um. . . I hope you enjoy it! ^-^**

**Disclaimer: I don't own Supernatural . . . or Castiel :'(**

**Ooh, and, uh. . . A/N: I just recently changed the title of this fic to 'Vi Et Animo' which, if anyone is curious, is Latin for "Strength and Courage" or also "With Heart and Soul" Latin because, well, it's Supernatural (don't they use Latin for the demon exorcisms?)and the whole strength, courage and soul-y stuff, I'll let you figure that out. Good title or not? :/ I thought it was all right. . . :p**

**X~X~X**

Cas, releasing the girl's wrist, landed roughly against the wall for support, head throbbing and body aching. The scene before him spun – just a ray of colours. He could vaguely see the familiar room: the overlarge windows as bright light streamed in, the swooping marble stairwell and the detail along the edges of the enormously high ceiling, reminding him of those cream-squeezing things they do with cakes on the program Dean had showed him a while back.

Cas could feel the girl as she clasped one of his hands tightly with her own and draped his same arm over her non-existent shoulder before helping him with all the strength she could gather. Stumbling awkwardly and swaying, she half-walked, half-dragged Cas and laid him on the sofa, his head lolling back into the cushion and his arm flopping down, his fingers almost touching the polished marble floor. She could've sworn he was shaking. It wasn't a surprise, really; the angel must be completely drained of all his energy. That wasn't a bombshell, either, after miraculously transporting both of them back here from whatever city they'd fallen in before.

The girl sat – more like fell – next to him and she took his fallen hand and held it in her own two before laying them and her head on the edge of the sofa beside his waist, eventually sleeping like that for well over a day at least whilst Cas rested.

Late afternoon, a whole day and a half later, Cas found himself roused by movement and a slight brush of wind swept over his face: bright blue orbs opened in search for the source. He saw that passed the overlarge, glass coffee table and under the enormous archway, he spotted the girl hunched over the kitchen sink, retching. Getting up too fast and almost toppling over, Cas swiftly made his way over to her, slightly confused with her coughing up the awful coloured liquid into the previously shiny silver basin.

"Are you all right?" Cas asked whilst holding back her half-singed hair. Even though it was already filthy, the angel thought it was a kind gesture at least.

"Uh-huh. . ." was the girl's answer, still hung over the sink, before vomiting up more with an added extra bonus of blood. "Lovely . . ." she muttered before grabbing a kitchen tissue from the already touched pile beside the sink and pressing it to her mouth. She must've been here at least half an hour altogether through the time Cas was out of it. Running the tap and washing the blood-infused liquid down the drain, she was almost sick at the sight of it again. She'd clean it properly later.

"I would help you if I could. . ."

"Thanks, Cas . . . but you've done enough for me already," she acknowledged as the angel released hold of her hair. The angel nodded in response, looking – as he normally did - curious.

Looking down and realising how much of a mess she really was with the half torn dress and general filth, the girl left the kitchen and made her way back into the living room, crossing the three massive windows that overlooked a large, sweeping stone drive and a large area of grass and trees and flowers. She glanced back before slowly making her way up the winding stairwell, her hand brushing the gold rail, and – remembering where to go – walked down the bright corridor, passed the picturesque oil paintings and finely-made pots filled of withered plants, and entered what she believed to be a stupidly large bathroom: the roll top white bath with short golden legs, the walk in shower (practically the size of a small room in itself) and the three sinks looking on into one vast mirror.

Pulling down the two strips of fabric from her shoulders, the girl let the dress fall to the ground before stepping out of it and tossing it into the round, wicker bin. Walking over to a white chest with wicker draws, she found the selection of bottles and tubes she wanted.

After an in-depth teeth cleaning then shower (deciding that bathing would cause far too much mess), deep conditioning her hair, cleansing thoroughly, toning and then exfoliating rather roughly – although not really caring, finally moisturizing deeply and inhaling the fresh mango scent, the girl felt finally clean, at least on the outside. She knew there was not that much skin on her and that doing all this wasn't the top of her priorities, she thought that she should make some sort of . . . attempt?

Wrapping the soft towel around her, she exited the room and entered another across the hall: her bedroom. Rolling her eyes and the, yet again, stupid size of the room. After ignoring the rest of the room fit for, well, someone more than she was, she opened the top drawer of a pretty mirrored circular cabinet to pull out a pair of simple black panties, along with a simple bra in the smallest size she owned.

Standing in front of the black floor-length mirror, she examined herself in horror of what she was looking at. I mean, she'd seen worse, much worse, but it was disgusting seeing it on her own self. It wasn't _her fault_, she knew that, but it did astound her that some girls – and women – want to _actually_ look like a skeleton: each rib was visibly seen, as well as the unreal collar and hip bones, even the awful thigh gap and the bony knees. In comparison to anything, she looked slightly thinner than a runway model and she didn't particularly like that.

Mentally throwing up at the sight of herself, she made a note to leave mirrors alone for a while and opened the next draw down and rummaged around a bit to find a large black t-shirt, which she put on and noticed that it only just covered her sorry excuse for an arse. To be honest she wanted comfort and she didn't really care about showing off all her skin. What skin? It was practically all bone. But nonetheless, Cas was about as much a pervert as the stray cat across the driveway. _As if anyone would be perving on me! _It was a funny thought. Although, she'd been quite the . . . uh, sex symbol back home.

_If only it weren't for the whole torturing the –_

"Aria!"

Cas' deep, gravelly voice came from below. _Oh, crap_. Rushing out the room, through the hallway and down the marble staircase, she ran through the living area into the kitchen, its black shiny floors illuminated here and there by the deep blue lights underneath. The same deep, beautiful blue as Cas' eyes, she noted, and, speaking of them, they were in fact alight with shock or – is that excitement?

She noticed the angel standing against the polished black units, his arms at his sides and looking as if he'd won a free night with a sexy hooker. . . Although, maybe not, Cas'd be petrified!

"W- What're doing?" she said, slightly breathless. ". . . Cas, you okay?"

"Yes, I'm fine," was the angel's confused reply.

She started to walk over to him. "So why'd y–?"

"Look, is it not wonderful!" Cass announced with joy suddenly as Aria stood at his side. Hearing a quick metallic popping sound, she chuckled at the sight of the pure pride adorning the angel's fatigued face as he took out yet another two pieces of toast out of the silver toaster and added it to the stack of what . . . eight or nine pieces already?

"It took me a while," he continued with a frown as he motioned to the several pieces of charcoal toast.

**X~X~X**

**Like I said on my profile, my writing is a work in progress, so I really appreciate advice on making the characters like themselves or making it feel it little more like Supernatural :D**

**All reviews are totally welcome! Thanks for reading!**


	3. A Prophet with Apple Pie

**Disclaimer: I don't own Supernatural or its characters!**

**Here it is! **

**What is here, you ask? **

**Why, the next chapter of course!**

**Tee-he! :D **

**But, uh, here it is. I've worked on it all day, whilst – of course – interchanging it with reading destiel fics! ^-^ **

**Anyways, it's now quarter to two in the morning where I am and *insert dramatic voice here* I've dedicated this last hour into making sure this chapter is not littered with typos and bad description!**

**Haha! This is what happens when I stay up late and listen to dark drum and bass tunes . . . **

**Also, this chapter is set six weeks after the previous chapter '****_Out of Batteries', hence this . . . _**

Six weeks later.

Finally, 'her' body was as normal as it was before with an all over creamy ivory skin tone and more skin altogether, to be honest, but she looked healthier by far, and she wasn't throwing up most days. So it deemed appropriate. . .

X~X~X

Welcomed by the oh-so-familiar smell of inviting whiskey, Dean and Sam – duffel bags strung over both their shoulders – entered Bobby Singer's home to find him at his desk, ruffling through old parchments, and Castiel – as he usually did – staring out of the window with a blank expression plastered on his natural tired face. The brothers dumped their bags on the floor with a satisfying _cling_ as knives hit knives.

Dean was straight to the fridge, either for pie or beer (or both), and Sam asked Bobby whether he had any leads on Lucifer or in general – the apocalypse. This had become a ritual each and every time they arrived at the drunkard's house. Never because they were using the guy for information, but because even though the end of the world was lurking around the corner and the Devil himself was out of his cage, it was comforting to . . . regroup? It was better together than it was separated, that's for sure.

Safety in numbers, perhaps?

Not that it would stop Satan. . .

"Dammit, Bobby, where's the pie?"

Sam rolled his eyes, although, with a small smile none the less.

"In case you ain't noticed, I got bigger and better things to be thinking 'bout than your damn pie, _Dean_," Bobby called irritably, not looking up as he read an overlarge leather-bound book.

Dean reappeared with a pout as he leant against the black-painted door frame before taking a swig from his beer. He raised his brows at the look Sam gave him - as if to ask 'where's mine?' - smiled and said, "Last one," whilst raising his bottle.

Before Sam could retort, Dean's eyes swept over to the girl in light brown heeled boots at her ankles leading to black skinny jeans with a denim shirt tucked in so it looked loose with her partially rolled up sleeves. Before he could ask who she was, she had taken a hexagonal package out of her shoulder bag and gave it to him, saying, "I believe it's your favourite."

Dean looked down at it, confused yet amazed.

_Pie? _

Pie.

_Apple pie?_

The girl threw Sam a bottle of beer, still cold, before heading to the fridge.

Brows creased at the caught beer in his hand, Sam asked to anyone who knew, "Who the hell was that?"

"Adriana Adams," Castiel replied in his deep, gravelly voice.

"Well. . . I like her. . ." Dean murmured as he began to undo his pie's wrapping, grinning from ear to ear.

Castiel gave the eldest Winchester a blank stare before turning his gaze to the girl, Adriana, who handed the smug looking Dean a fork. Dean's brows rose at Sam as she then came to stand beside the angel who leant against the wooden desk next to the window. The younger Winchester would have guessed her to be around mid-twenties, a few years younger than himself, at least, but her face seemed almost ageless.

Bobby drank his whiskey and stopped reading for a while; he was keen to find out the brothers' thoughts on the situation, even though Castiel and Adriana had already explained to him the predicament not two hours ago.

"So, uh . . . no offence, Adriana," began Sam as he put down his beer, "but, what are you doing here?"

"None taken," the girl began, as casual as anything, "I was captured by demons a couple weeks ago and - of course – they questioned me about you all. . ."

"Us?" Dean managed to produce with a mouthful of pie that Sam couldn't help but shake his head and blink several times over at.

"Uh-huh. Apparently, I'm a Prophet," Adriana explained.

Dean choked out something that sounded something like, "that's unfortunate."

"Hm. . . Anyway, uh, after Sam here opened Lucifer's cage, that's when I became a Prophet and ever since then, I knew everything about you from the past two or so years, more or less. It's weird, if you ask me."

"But, why us?" questioned Sam, shaking his head a little, although eyes alight with curiosity.

"I know I'm supposed to help."

Dean chose this moment to spit out something completely incoherent, in which even Bobby raised his eyebrows at.

"Dean, you're gonna have to swallow that," sighed Sam in annoyance.

Dean giggled like a school girl at his brother's oh-so-dirty comment. Adriana's brows furrowed. The angel was totally lost here, in this subject, and Bobby just rolled his eyes both at Castiel's naivety and Dean's not-so-righteous mind.

"I _said_," Dean started after the girly chuckling had died down, "what are you gonna help us with?"

Adriana's glowing eyes widened, before saying, "Lucifer . . . and the _apocalypse_, perhaps?"

Sam questioned, "What's in it for you, anyways? It's too dangerous to just risk yourself like that willingly." _I mean, what is it she wants, to die? Be tortured? Or possessed? If you aren't involved in this, why sign up for the one way ticket?_

"My whole family is dead, Sam, and I'm now a Prophet," interjected Adriana, "It's what I'm supposed to do. And it sounds weird, I know, but I can't think of anything else but this. I _have_ to help."

After Sam, Dean and Bobby had moved into the kitchen to discuss whether Adriana should be accepted, she knew Sam wasn't so sure (and he didn't blame her) but Dean thought otherwise.

"Sam, we need all the help we can get. The chick's offering and she's a Prophet of the Lord," Dean explained, "she's already involved."

"Of course, we can just shove her out the backdoor," Bobby said in a sarcastic whisper, "no doubt the demons would get her _again_, if that's what you want, Sam?"

"No. I mean, I don't think this is as cut and dry as it seems."

"Why not? Cas trusts her, and that's good enough for me," Dean said, eyebrows risen.

Sam gave Bobby a well-what-do-you-think look and the older man said that they'll have to just keep two eyes open.

"Damn straight," muttered Dean, eyeing Adriana who was trying to interest herself by flicking through the pages one of Bobby's demon exorcism books, her back to them.

"Dean!" Sam scorned, slapping his brother's shoulder.

"What?" Dean exclaimed in a hushed murmur, "Didn't you see her ass?"

Sam gave his brother a reprimanding look before leaving him standing there as he made his way to Castiel.

"I did," Dean continued, "it's a good ass. . ."

**X~X~X**

**Yeah, I'm so leaving you with that thought! ;) **

**Okay, so tell me what you think . . . were any of the characters OOC? It's my first time writing with any Supernatural characters at all, so I'll be interested on what you think. **

**Thanks so much for reading! :D**

**Now, I think I'll watch Castiel and the Winchesters smite Dick Roman's ass as I lay in my bed in my pajamas and eventually fall asleep at some point. Bye, bye . . . or night, night! :D**


End file.
